


Elegy for a Christmas Tree

by hersilentlanguage (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I kinda went tongue-in-cheek to avoid cliches, Iron Dad Secret Santa, Irondad, Merrily Ever After, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, if I'm being honest here, ironfam, mood: chaos, post-Endgame AU, setting: christmas tree farm, spiderson, titling Christmas fics is actually the hardest thing ever, tony lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-04-19 04:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21870238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hersilentlanguage
Summary: “Don’t make me say it, kid.”“Say what?” asked Peter, glancing up from his phone.“You’re a walking stereotype of your generation.”Peter just laughed, holding his phone up for Tony to see the tab he had open. The web browser was stuck on a loading page, unable to complete the search entered into the address bar:“how to timber a tree safely.”Tony looked incredulous. “How totimbera tree safely?”Peter shrugged. “Yeah, no offence, Mr. Stark. I’m just, uh, not convinced you know what you’re doing out here.” He cleared his throat, and added quickly, “It’s not that I don’t trust you—”“Uh-huh.”“—it’s just that we’re not exactly in your, uh,element,”Peter continued, waving lazily at the surrounding trees. “Don’t feel bad, though! I mean, it’s not exactlymyelement either—”“Mm’hmm.”“—‘cause, like, where am I supposed to swing? Sure, I can totallysurviveout here, but if I’m gonnathrive, I need to be, like, at least 200 miles or so, um… that way?”“That’s Canada. You’re pointing to Canada.”
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (mentioned), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38
Collections: Iron Dad Secret Santa 2019





	Elegy for a Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@auntmayy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40auntmayy).

> **This story is a gift for [@auntmayy](https://auntmayy.tumblr.com/) as part of the [Irondad Secret Santa](https://irondadsecretsanta.tumblr.com/) exchange!** The prompt I started with was "IronFam doing winter activities," with just a dash of inspiration taken from a secondary prompt ("IronFam on Christmas Morning").
> 
> **Merry Christmas, @auntmayy!** I really hope you enjoy this story! It's been a pleasure to write for you! Now, without further ado...

“Alright, so you just hold it something like this, and—” Tony stopped short, letting the axehead drop into the snow as he levelled Peter with a frown. “Don’t make me say it, kid.”

“Say what?” asked Peter, glancing up from his phone.

“You’re a walking stereotype of your generation.”

Peter just laughed, holding his phone up for Tony to see the tab he had open. The web browser was stuck on a loading page, unable to complete the search entered into the address bar: _“how to timber a tree safely.”_

Tony looked incredulous. “How to _timber_ a tree safely?”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, no offence, Mr. Stark. I’m just, uh, not convinced you know what you’re doing out here.” He cleared his throat, and added quickly, “It’s not that I don’t trust you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—it’s just that we’re not exactly in your, uh, _element,”_ Peter continued, waving lazily at the surrounding trees. “Don’t feel bad, though! I mean, it’s not exactly _my _element either—”

“Mm’hmm.”

“—‘cause, like, where am I supposed to swing? Sure, I can totally _survive_ out here, but if I’m gonna _thrive_, I need to be, like, at least 200 miles or so, um… that way?”

“That’s Canada. You’re pointing to Canada.”

“Am I, though? ‘Cause I’m _pretty_ sure that’s a Jersey wind.” Peter flashed an impish grin at Tony, who sighed in a long-suffering way. He looked like he might reply, but instead, he just picked up the axe again, raising an eyebrow at Peter.

“You wanna give this a shot, kid? It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just admit it,” he teased, pocketing his phone as he stepped forward to accept the axe from Tony. “You’ve never done this in your life.”

Tony huffed, his warm breath fogging in the crisp evening air.

“I’ll take that as a confession,” said Peter, chuckling. He began to pass the axe between his hands, testing his grip on it at different angles. He had exactly zero idea what he was doing, which became obvious when he tested a golf swing.

“Yeah, yeah… less talk, more—_hey, _whoa there, Tiger!” Tony stumbled back into a knee-high patch of snow, his arms held out defensively against the axehead.

Peter grinned. “Sorry, my bad.” He turned to regard the 10-foot pine that Tony had set his sights on. The last rays of sun had cast a golden hue on the upper branches. “Maybe we should say something to thank her before, uh, you know…” Peter glanced back, making a slashing motion across his neck with a gravelly _“crrkshh”_ sound.

Tony snorted, and Peter pulled a face at him. “What? I’m being serious!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your _face_ says a lot,” Peter mumbled, feigning indignation as he looked back to the tree and added under his breath in a conspiratorial tone, _“I am Groot.”_

“Sorry, what was that?” Tony asked sharply.

Peter smirked. “I didn’t say anything,” he replied with an edge of mocking. His smirk widened into a grin when he heard Tony scoff, muttering_ something, something, “no son of mine” _without any real heat behind it. The ironic thing about it was how _warm_ those words made Peter feel—and not that he planned to make a moment out of the feeling, but it still meant something to him. A lot, actually.

Peter played it casual as he slung the axe over his shoulder. He cleared his throat, then addressed the stately pine before him with gusto: “Tree who is about to die… we salute you!”

Tony chuckled into the folds of his scarf, watching as Peter tossed the axe aside and leaned in to hug the tree with outstretched arms. The upper branches dipped ominously in the half-second before the jostled pine dumped snow on Peter’s head and all down the back of his coat. He yelped, stumbling backwards with such clumsy haste that he lost his balance and fell back on his rear, flailing his arms like a startled penguin all the way down.

Tony doubled over, having burst into laughter. Peter whined at him, _“Mr. Stark, _it’s so not funny,” but even as he said it, he couldn’t help the smile that split across his face and coloured his tone. He heaved a sigh that sounded much more like a chuckle as Tony continued to laugh.

Tony stopped laughing when a snowball struck him in the arm. He shook his head, sputtering out a protest: “Wha—Pete, did you just—at _me, _you little—” Another snowball struck in answer, nailing him square in the chest; the spray of powder from the impact site left his beard white with snowflakes. “Alright, that’s it—”

“What, am I off the nice list?” asked Peter, giggling with manic glee as he ducked to avoid a snowball.

Tony scoffed, fixing Peter with a sidelong look as they both gathered up the ammo for their next hit. “Who said you were on it?” He wound up his arm, letting his snowball fly—a little surprised when it actually struck its target, only because Peter had paused to listen to something. “Kid?”

_“Shh,”_ said Peter, waving dismissively at him.

“Sorry, did you just _shush_ me? Is that what—”

_“Shhh!” _Peter shot him a look, and Tony quieted. Mostly. He grumbled to himself as he began to glance around, trying to find whatever it was that had caught Peter’s attention.

It never occurred to Tony that he might have fallen for a trap—at least, not until another snowball struck him hard and fast, right between the shoulders. He whirled around with a look of betrayal. _“Peter Benjamin Parker!”_

Peter fell back into the snow, laughing hysterically. He had been halfway to standing when Tony’s reaction caught him off guard, and now his wobbly knees refused to hold him as he tried to straighten up. “H-help,” he called weakly, still laughing with such force that tears were beginning to prick at his eyes. “Tony…_ help…”_

“Oh, _now_ it’s Tony, huh? Yeah, I don’t think so, kid.”

“But—”

“Not listening.”

_“Mr. Stark,” _Peter laughed out, “I’m—I can’t…” He made no attempt to dodge the snowball that Tony tossed at the side of his head, though he did throw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, you win!”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Fool me once,” he replied, bouncing another snowball in the palm of his hand.

Peter pretended to calculate something on his fingers, his face scrunched up in thought. “Actually, I think the score’s more like—hey, no, wai—“ He crossed his arms just in time to defend against Tony’s snowball, although a dusting of powder still caught him across the face. He blinked up at Tony through snow-crusted lashes, mumbling, “That’s cheating or something. I let you win already.”

“Oh, you _let_ me? Is that what happened?”

Peter snickered, dropping all pretence of annoyance as he struggled onto his knees. “I mean, I didn’t actually wanna hurt you.” He flashed a cheeky grin, snagging a pine bough for balance as he got on his feet again. “Obviously, I was holding back.”

_“Obviously,”_ said Tony, rolling his eyes. “But don’t pretend like you weren’t playing dirty, what with your little fake-out earlier.” He gestured vaguely to the trees behind him, and Peter gave a short laugh.

“I wasn’t faking, I swear.” He put a hand over his heart, eliciting a snort from Tony. “It was _probably_ nothing, but…” He trailed off, glancing pointedly over Tony’s shoulder. “I dunno, I just—for real, I thought I heard something kinda big over there.”

Tony crossed his arms. “I’m not gonna look.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Peter grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Even if it was, like… your _favourite _reindeer?”

“I only have a _least _favourite reindeer,” said Tony, “and if you’re about to sing his song, so help me—”

Laughing, Peter threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “I don’t perform without my co-star. It’s in the contract.”

Tony couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He remembered the “contract” Morgan had drawn up (literally—with crayons). _Every bit her mother’s daughter, _he thought with a swell of pride. She’d even had Tony sign as a witness to the deal; then, she’d run and stuffed it into the most official-looking unlocked filing cabinet in Pepper’s home office.

“Alright, so—” Peter clapped his hands together, snapping Tony out of his momentary daze. “Time to cut a birch.” He snorted at his own pun. Tony shook his head, smirking fondly as Peter took the axe back up with a flourish.

Tony watched, nodding in approval as Peter turned, found his footing, and judged the distance with a slow, experimental swing. “Hold it there, Pete, just…” He trailed off, fumbling for his phone to snap a few pictures for May—and himself, if he was being honest, because this…_ this_ was going to be a memory worth framing. “Okay, ready? Say ‘trees’!”

The first photo was of Peter starting to look back, aiming for a proper smile over-the-shoulder. The second photo was the moment he processed that Tony hadn’t said _“say cheese,”_ which made his face split wider than any grin as he burst out laughing. The third photo was the first of many taken in “burst mode,” capturing a stop-motion record of events that showed Peter wielding the axe in surprise at a falling pinecone, then more laughter, and finally, a bemused expression as he realized Tony was still taking pictures.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony saw through the camera lens as Peter tilted his head, smiling in a way that was half-patient, half-curious. Tony was smiling, too, as he looked up from the screen. Their eyes met. Neither spoke—

At least not until Tony’s smile took on an edge of mischief. He brandished the phone at Peter, and declared with a wink, ”Future blackmail.”


End file.
